Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn

Mrs Gaff now condescended on explanation. First of all she made Gaff and Billy go round the apartment with her, and expounded to them the signification of the various items, after the manner of a showman.

“Here, you see,” said the good woman, pointing to the floor, “is a splendid carpit strait fro’ the looms o’ Turkey; so the man said as sold it to me, but I’ve reason to believe he told lies. Hows’ever, there it is, an’ it’s a fuss-rater as ye may see. The roses is as fresh as the day it was put down, ’xceptin’ that one where Tottie capsized a saucepan o’ melted butter an’ eggs last Christmas day. This,” (pointing to the bed), “is a four-poster. You’ve often said to me, Stephen, that you’d like to sleep in a four-poster to see how it felt. Well, you’ll git the chance now, my man! This here is a noo grate an’ fire-irons, as cost fi’ pun’ ten. The man I got it fro’ said it wos a bargain at that, but some knowin’ friends o’ mine holds a different opinion. Here is a noo clock, as goes eight days of his own accord, an’ strikes the halves an’ quarters, but he’s not so good as he looks, like many other showy critters in this world. That old farmiliar face in the corner does his dooty better, an’ makes less fuss about it. Then this here is a noo set o’ chimbley ornaments. I don’t think much o’ them myself, but Tot says they’re better than nothing. Them six cheers is the best I ever sat on. Nothin’ can smash ’em. Mad Haco even can’t—”

“Ah! is Haco alive still?” interrupted Gaff.

“Alive, I should think so. Nothin’ ’ll kill that man. I don’t believe buryin’ him alive would do it. He’s up at the Sailors’ Home just now. But I’m not done yet. Here’s a portrait o’ Lord Nelson, as can look all round the room. See, now, git into that corner. Now, an’t he lookin’ at ye?”

“That he is, an’ no mistake,” replied Gaff.

“Well, git into this other corner; now, an’t he lookin’ at ye still?”

“To be sure he is!”

“Well, well, don’t go for to puzzle yer brains over it. That pictur’ has nearly druv all the thinkin’ men o’ Cove mad, so we’ll let it alone just now. Here’s a man-o’-war, ye see; an’ this is the steps for mountin’ into the four-poster. It serves for a—a—some sort o’ man, I forget—Tot, you know—”

“An ottoman,” said Tottie.

“Ay, a ottyman by day, an’ steps-an’-stairs at night. Look there!”

Mrs Gaff opened up the steps and said, “What d’ye think o’ that?”

Gaff said, “Wonderful!” and Billy exclaimed, “Hallo!”

“Yes, Stephen,” resumed Mrs Gaff, going to the cupboard and fetching the tea-caddy, from which she extracted her banker’s book, “all them things was bought for you with your own fortin’, which is ten thousand pound, (an’ more, for I’ve not lived up to the interest by no manner o’ means); an’ that there book’ll show ye it’s all true.”

Having reached this point, Mrs Gaff was seized with a fit of laughter, which she stifled on her husband’s breast, and then, flinging herself into the four-poster, she burst into a flood of tears.

This was the first time in her life that she had given way to such weakness, and she afterwards said to Tottie, in reference to it, that she couldn’t help it, and had made up her mind to have a good cry once for all, and be done with it.

Gaff and his son examined the bank-book, and listened with wonder to Tottie’s account of the manner in which their wealth had come to them. Before the recital was completed, Mrs Gaff had had her cry out, and dried her eyes.

“What think ye of that, Stephen?” she said, pointing to the book.

Gaff shook his head slowly, and looked very grave.

“I don’t much like it, Jess.”

“What, don’t like money?”

“Too much of it is dangerous. I hope it won’t harm us, lass.”

“It’s done no harm to me yet, as I knows of,” said Mrs Gaff firmly.

“What says the Bible, Tot, about that?” asked Gaff. “Money’s the root o’ all evil, an’t it?”

“No, daddy, it’s the love o’ money that’s the root of all evil.”

“Ah, to be sure. Well, there’s a difference there. Hows’ever, we can’t help it, so we must larn to bear it. Come along now, Jess, and let us have supper.”

To supper they sat down, and long they sat over it, and a hearty one they ate. It was not till they began to think of retiring for the night that it was remembered that there was no possibility of putting up Billy in the cottage, for Tottie occupied the closet of the “boodwar.” The Bu’ster relieved his parents from their difficulty, however, by asserting that he had taken a wild desire to see Mad Haco that night; so, declining the offer of a shake-down made up under the four-poster, he started for Wreckumoft, and took up his quarters in the Sailors’ Home.

Chapter Thirty Three.

The Sailors’ Home and the New Secretary

Great changes had taken place in the Sailors’ Home at Wreckumoft since Billy Gaff last saw it. A new wing had been added to it, and the original building had been altered and repaired, while every convenience in the way of ventilating and heating had been introduced, so that the sailors who frequented this admirable Home found themselves surrounded by comforts and luxuries such as, in former days, they had never dreamed of.

Fortunately for this valuable institution, Sir Richard Doles, Bart, had not been made a director, consequently the business of the Home was not impeded.

Fortunately, also, the secretary who had been recently appointed to the Home was a man of ability and energy, being none other than our friend Kenneth Stuart.

That incorrigible young man had ventured one day to say to his father that he could not make up his mind to give up the “portionless girl,” Lizzie Gordon; that he considered her anything but portionless, seeing that she possessed an earnest, loving, Christian heart, and a wise thoughtful mind; qualities which wealth could not purchase, and compared with which a fortune was not worth a straw.

Mr Stuart, senior, thereupon dismissed Mr Stuart, junior, from his presence for ever, and told him to go and beg his bread where he chose!

Curiously enough, Mr Stuart, senior, happened to dine that day with Colonel Crusty at the club where the latter put up when in town, and the valiant colonel told him that he had that morning dismissed his daughter from his presence for ever, she having returned to the parental home as Mrs Bowels. The two, therefore, felt a peculiar sort of sympathy, being, as it were, in the same boat, and cracked an additional bottle of claret on the strength of the coincidence. When they had finished the extra bottle, they ordered another, and became exceedingly jocose, insomuch that one vowed he would leave his fortune to the Church, but the other preferred to leave his to a Lunatic Asylum.

On receiving his dismissal, Kenneth left his father’s house with words of regret and good-will on his lips, and then went to tell Lizzie, and seek his fortune.

He had not to seek long or far. Being a director of the Sailors’ Home, I chanced to be in search of a secretary. A better man than Kenneth could not be found, so I proposed him, and he was at once appointed.

The salary being a good one, he was enabled to retain Dan Horsey and Bucephalus. He also obtained permission to remove Emmie to his house, having told his father who the child was, and having been told in return that he, (the father), had become aware of the fact long ago, and that he was welcome to her! Kenneth then set himself earnestly to work to promote the interests of the Sailors’ Home, and to prepare his house for the reception of Lizzie, who had agreed to marry him whenever he felt himself in a position to ask her.

Lizzie was a peculiar girl. She had, indeed, permitted Kenneth to visit her as a lover; but she resolutely refused to accept him as long as his father continued adverse to the union. The moment, however, that she heard of his being cast off and disinherited, she agreed, with tears in her eyes, to marry him whenever he pleased.

But to return from this digression: the new secretary of the Sailors’ Home of Wreckumoft became the guardian spirit of the place. He advised all the arrangements which the Board made. He drew up all the rules that the Board fixed.

An “Address” which he issued to officers and seamen frequenting the port of Wreckumoft, wound up with the following words:

“The Directors of the Sailors’ Home are anxious that seamen should clearly understand that the institution was designed for their sole benefit, and established with the view of protecting them from the systematic extortion of crimps and other snares, to which their circumstances and calling render them peculiarly liable; and, above all, to promote their moral elevation, social improvement, and religious instruction. The rules by which the institution is governed are, as far as practicable, adapted to meet the habits of all who participate in its benefits, and to further their best interests. It is conducted on principles of order, comfort, and liberality; and no restraint is exercised beyond that which common prudence and mutual interest require. In the ‘Home’ thus provided; which embraces security, freedom of action, and social enjoyment, the Directors desire to create and sustain mutual sympathy, trust, and good-will, and to employ those agencies which tend most to mature habits of frugality, self-respect, and the love of God.”

Immediately after the appearance of this address, seamen flocked to the “Home” for lodgings, and those who did so found the place so uncommonly pleasant that they brought their messmates, so that for months afterwards not only was every bed taken, but the very stairs and landings of the building were occupied by men who preferred to sleep there, and enjoy the advantages of the Institution, rather than go back to the dens which they had frequented in former days.

On the night when Billy went to the Home it was very full, and he stumbled over more than one recumbent seaman on the landings before he reached the hall, where, late though it was, a number of men were playing chess, draughts, and bagatelle, or reading books and papers. Here he found Haco Barepoles, as rugged as ever, seated by the fire and deeply engaged in a copy of the “Pilgrim’s Progress.”

“Wonderful book; wonderful book!” exclaimed Haco, laying the volume on the table and scratching his head, as if to stir up the brain inside. Just then Billy came up.

“Hallo, Haco!”

“Hallo, stranger! You’ve the advantage of me, lad, for I don’t know ye.”

“Yes, ye do.”

“Eh! do I? Let me see.”

Here the mad skipper scrutinised the lad’s face earnestly.

“Well, I have seen ye afore now, but you’ve ’scaped from me, youngster.”